


Life on the Balance

by Amelia041223



Series: The krakens are Calling [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, Theon Greyjoy - Freeform, bittersweetness, memories (mostly bad), new turnouts, trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:43:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia041223/pseuds/Amelia041223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Theon's trial, Asha doesn't know what to do, no one knows what the trial is even about since they all think they know what happened, even though they hadn't all seen Theon recently. They just go with it, but it puts Theon's life in the balance, and it just so happens almost everyone hates him. Mostly everyone. So what is she going to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Most Certainly Guilty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Again for my sister](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Again+for+my+sister).



> Sorry I took so long! I'm very lazy. I hope you like this one, but I still am not good at Rickon, Asha and Osha, and Davos. Sorry! I'm not a good writer. Please share your thoughts, and give me feedback! I need it!  
> Cheers!

The shackles bit hard against his raw skin, and his chains jangled miserably with every step. Theon could feel every pair of eyes boring into him, all shouting more or less the same thing.  _I hate you._

He felt very uncomfortable. Rough hands held onto his bony arms, their only purpose, in truth, to steady them. Stupid. Why was he shaking? He should be dead! Why was he still alive? Why did the gods love to torment him so, either the drowned god, the old gods, the new gods, even Stannis' red demon. Why couldn't he just die? There was no point in living, not when everyone hated you. 

But then he saw his sister, different from all the rest, gazing at him anxiously. That was also strange. He decided he liked his sister better when she was eleven. Wex was beside her, matching her eyes. It unsettled him. Why would they care about him? He shook his head, and almost smiled at the thought of the parchment still tucked safely away in his shirt pocket underneath his thin cloak. The words from Wex, boring their names. It was the best gift he had ever received. His young former squire had learned quite a lot in two years, or was it three? Theon couldn't be sure How long it had been since, since...Winterfell... He couldn't remember.

Theon walked further down the grand hall of Winterfell, underneath the more or less fixed ceiling. It was still charred and black. It ran shivers down his spine. My work. No. His work. Ramsay's work. Not mine. But if I hadn't...he shook his head. Those thoughts were too painful.

Trudging on to where Stannis sat beside Rickon with lord too fat to sit a horse on his other side on the Dias, he remembered four days ago, when he had been forced to walk on maimed feet beside his sister all the way to Winterfell. Sure they had taken camp a few times, and stopped to rest, but Asha had almost been forced to practically carry him as fire laced through his wet feet in the snow. It had been torture. When they had arrived, he had been thrown into another cell, and had thankfully been given a cloak, and no chains. That had been a large mercy, and he had spent the next day rubbing his aching toes.

Now he was here, walking up Winterfell's hall as men and women hissed 'turncloak', 'kinslayer', as he passed them, feeling ridiculous. Everyone radiated anger, and hatred. He was supposed to be dead. They were not pleased at all.

Once they reached the small wooden chair at the front, he was forced to sit, or rather he collapsed, and one man with a large sword dangling from his belt stood beside him to guard. However, by his amused expression, it was obvious he thought it wasn't necessary. 

Little Rickon squirmed in his chair too big for him, his feet dangling comically in the air. He was about to speak, when Stannis, jaw set foward, grinding his teeth, opened his mouth and said in a bored voice,

"I, Stannis of the House Baratheon, first of his name, rightful king of the Andals, the Royner, and the First men and Westeros, lord of Dragonstone and Storm's End, and the stormlands, hereby charge you, Theon Greyjoy, of betrayal, murder of foster kin," here he paused and glanced swiftly at Rickon, as if to say, well, one of them, that hasn't yet been established, and continued, "burning Winterfell, murdering Ser Rodrik Cassel as he stood by Winterfell, attempting to kill his daughter Beth, ordering the death of various innocents, and murdering Ramsay Bolton." The last bit shocked him. Couldn't they tell it had been the work of dogs? Easy. He had given the command, that was all they needed to know. He hadn't thought about him for a long time, but every night, he lay awake, afraid he would wake up to Ramsay's flaying knife. He hadn't slept for a while. He shivered at the memory of Ramsay's blood curdling screams as his dogs- no. He wouldn't picture that. Not now. Not ever. He began to shake uncontrollably.

He suddenly realized Stannis had asked him a question, and was staring at him with his eyes bulging and his expression annoyed. He kept grinding his teeth, making Theon's hair stand on end. Everyone was staring at him. Embarrased, he started to stammer, and shake more violently.

"Do you deny the accusations?" He repeated dully. 

"Yes, uh, that is no, but, um, some of them, yes," he fumbled weakly. Stannis stared at him. Theon stared back, forcing himself not to flinch. He found it very difficult, and eventually lowered his gaze back at his hands, concealed by ratty gloves his sister had given him four days ago. He had worn them ever since, but still hid them in the folds of his cloak, determined not to show the fingers that flopped down, empty. He also had his hood up to cover his stiff white hair. He could do nothing about his ruined teeth when he spoke. 

Stannis continued to stare, unblinking. It made Theon feel very uncomfortable, and almost sighed with relief when he spoke, only to catch his breath again.

"First witness," he droned. To Theon's utter surprise, Wex, along with the king's hand, stepped forward. They never looked at each other, though Wex anxiously shuffled his feet and stared at the stone floor. The Hand reached into his pocket, and retrieved a piece of rolled up parchment. He cleared his throat.

The trial had begun.


	2. Witnesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witnesses are brought forth, things don't look too good...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I fail at Osha, Wyman, Stannis, Asha, Rickon, Theon, Wex, and basically all of them! I need feedback please!

"I am only here to, um, practise my reading, I suppose. The young lad asked for me to read his account, so read it I must. It was written in his own hand, and helped by others. Now then, um..." He cleared his throat once more a little nervously, and never glanced at Theon, slumped in his chair, listening attentively. He did nod politely to Wex, though, who smiled shyly, urging him to continue. That he did.

"Now then, here we go. I, Wex, um, late sq-squi-re squire t-to T-Th-The-on, Theon Gr-gr-Grey-jo-jo-joy, Greyjoy," he stammered, as the hall wafted with little giggles. They were silenced instantly with a bug eyed stare from Stannis. Relieved, he continued a little more boldly, "I agree to t-th-the s-st-or-y, story, of m-my t-ti-me, time, a-at W-in-ter-fell, Winterfell, t-tol-d, told to Lord Wy-man, Wyman Man-der-ly, Manderly, w-w-w," he gasped for air, "who!" He cried triumphantly, glanced at the king's secretly proud expression for his Onion Knight, smiled a little, and resumed to the end, "who I told my story to at Wh-w-i-te, White, H-h-ar-b-b-bo-ur, no, h-h-Harbour!" He finished, pleased, though embarrassed. Stannis, though trying not to show it, was mildly pleased with his Hand. Perhaps the king wasn't so hard hearted after all, but had a soft spot for his Onion Knight. Theon was slightly surprised.

"And what is this story?" The king began, when, next to him, Lord Manderly let out an enormous belch, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and bellowed, 

"The part where, when Winterfell was about to be sacked, Lord Snow rode in, knocked Greyjoy in the head, burns Winterfell, leaves with hostages while Wex hides in the Weirwood tree, and witnesses both Stark boys emerge from the crypts, and go on separate ways. Turns out they were alive after all, and, as you can see, one is right here, not so sure about the other one though," he grimaced apologetically, "oh, and Lord Snow apparently murdered Ser Rodrik," he smiled, pleased with himself at remembering all of the account, and rewarded himself with another slice of beef pie he had ordered for himself. The manner in which Stannis was watching him, grinding his teeth ferociously, implied he disapproved with eating at a trial. Lord Manderly seemed utterly unconcerned, and continued the difficult task of spooning rich gravy and pieces of crisp flaky crust into his mouth. 

There was a small awkward pause in which the whole hall was filled with Manderly's chewing. He never slowed.

"Can this account be verified by anyone else in this hall?" The king asked tonelessly, trying in vain to ignore Lord Manderly's gluttony. The Onion Knight mustered a small smile, amused.

"Why," he said, "I can, since it's the same story I heard. He didn't change anything, and, well, we did find one of the Stark boys, didn't we? If that part was true, why would the little lad lie about anything else?" Stannis merely nodded. Taking that as a sign of dismissal, the Hand bowed his head respectably, and led Wex back to his seat. Theon couldn't help feeling grateful. The squire had been willing to risk a lot in the hopes of saving his life. Theon shook his head wonderingly. It was wrong. The squire shouldn't do that. It was dangerous. Not when almost everyone in this room wanted to see his head removed from his shoulders. Wex deserved to live. Theon didn't. He marvelled at the courage of the own king's Hand as well. It was evident he had some respect with the King, but, really...he shouldn't have done that.

"Next Witness," he droned. Theon jumped in his chair, jerked violently from his thoughts. To his horror, Theon instantly recognized the cruel, amused face of Skinner. Theon began to shudder, remembering the painful bite of his cold flaying knife as he lay on his fingers, and toes to lay them bare. He rubbed his gloved fingers together, and shuffled his feet. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming.

"Look, he's already guilty! Look at him shaking! That proves it!" Yelled a man in the front row. Others started muttering in agreement, but were soon silenced with a glare from Stannis that could have fried an egg instantly. Theon wasn't listening. His eyes were focused on the dagger at Skinner's belt. The one he had flayed him with. If he unsheathed it right now, it would still be crusty with each of his victim's blood. He never cleaned it.

A scowl instantly appeared on Lord Manderly's face, as if his pie had somehow gone stale.

"A Bolton man. One of the Bastard's Boys, I believe. What have we got to do with him? Why didn't you burn him with the rest? Sacrifice him to your red god. I have no liking for Bolton's," he said bitterly. It was evident The Lord of White Harbour had no liking for Freys, or Bolton's. He also had no liking for Iron men, but at least he wasn't urging Stannis to burn him. The king merely looked at him.

"He was proved innocent, said he had nothing to do with his nickname. Many agreed. He was brought here as a witness, not as a future corpse. Might as well hear testimony for the squire's story," he growled. It was clear he would have liked to have been watching snow fall rather than be the judge at a trial where the accused was most certainly guilty. It seemed pointless. He resumed to grind his teeth to nubs. Manderly continued to eat with a glare still directed at Skinner's face, evident to the fact he thought otherwise. Everyone in the hall waited with bated breath.

"Well, most of the squire's story is false, and I have friends willing to back me up. When we arrived, Ser Rodrik had already been killed, Winterfell burnt in a last mad attempt to keep the castle. We found them all strewn across the yard, bodies everywhere, apparently they had all tried to kill each other, then some survivors tried to attack, 'cause they had been hiding, we managed to capture a few and rescue those who had been hiding from the iron men. But he did admit that the two charred bodies on the walls were, in fact, farmers boys. He is guilty of Lord Bolton's murder, though, poor man, having to ride off to battle right after mourning his own father's death. He had been brave, that he had," he lowered his head solemnly, hiding the wide smirk on his face. Theon didn't miss it. Surprising anger he hadn't felt in ages began to boil inside him. He thought it had been flayed out of him, but now... He clenched his hands into fists and sat stiff as a board in his chair.

Skinner motioned Sour Alyn to come beside him. Theon remembered he had been one of those who had guarded Jeyne's door when they had snuck her out beneath their very noses. He was surprised to see Ramsay hadn't flayed him, but light bruises were still visible on his face. Perhaps he only remained loyal to house Bolton to save his own neck. He grinned at Theon, nodded politely to Stannis, and said casually,

"Aye, yer grace, it's true," and some more pardoned Bolton men joined in from where they were sitting, shouting,

"Aye, guilty!" And "lop off his head!" And "he killed Lord Bolton!" "He burned Winterfell!" "Lord Bolton didn't do nothing to to him!" "Turncloak!" The anger in Theon burned to loathing. He couldn't contain his outrage any longer, he stood up slowly, and looked Stannis right in the eye.

Before he could speak however, the King ignored him, stood up on his own, and glared so ferociously, Theon felt his knees buckle and the rage washed out of him, immediately returned to his subdued manner. The hall rang eerily with sudden silence. The king sat back down.

"Next witness," he muttered dangerously. Skinner and Sour Alyn immediately scrambled back to their seats, but not before smiling at Theon and whispering "reek" as they passed him. He stared numbly back at his thighs, silent. He didn't notice it was Tysho Nestoris who had stepped up, straightening his peculiar hat and clearing his throat primly. Theon didn't care anymore. He knew he was going to die.

"No, Greyjoy did not save poor Arya Stark, we did. They fell from the battlements, I assumed he had been trying to kill them both, poor girl, wanted to save his own skin. They were alive after all, and we picked them up in the snow, trying to run. They would have been caught if not for us. I did see him, during the battle at the lake, but he seemed to be trying to run, after escaping from wherever he had been kept, he was almost killed a few times, lucky I was there to save him once more, ungrateful though he is. At least his sister prevented him from escaping, and where would he have gone anyway? He would have been lost in the storm." Theon didn't even glance up. He was finished. He just hoped the end would come quickly.

Stannis sighed and glanced at Rickon, sitting beside him, as if to say, this was your idea, and the outcome is the same, let's just get on with this. He looked back at Theon, docile as a dog, and spoke slowly in his usual tone,

"I, Stannis of the House Baratheon, first of his name, rightful king of the Andals, the Roynar, and The First men, rightful king of Westeros, lord of Dragonstone, lord of Storm's End, Lord of the Stormlands, sentence you, Theon of the house Greyjoy, to-"

"Wait!" Someone cried. The king looked up irritatedly.

"What? Who spoke?" He snapped, patience gone.

"I did," said Asha, "I'd like to speak," she stepped down from her chair and walked forward purposefully. Stannis ground his teeth, nodded curtly, and said,

"Get on with it then, but I doubt it will do your brother much good." He had not spoken with enthusiasm, nor disappointment. He stared at Asha, waiting for her to speak, and so she did.


	3. A Little Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha stands up to save her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Asha's point of view. I hope you like it! Even though I can't write her very well.

Asha had felt confident when she had spoken, but now, she was a little nervous. But she couldn't sit idly by while a bunch of oafs condemned her little brother to die. That was not going to happen. She stopped beside her brother, who was sitting as still as stone, hardly breathing. She didn't dare touch him. He would be likely to flinch violently and have the whole hall erupt into laughter. That did not seem like a safe way to start. Besides, men didn't scare her. Not even the King's glare. Instead it made her laugh. It was rather comical. Asha stood her ground and stared right back into those unflinching eyes.

"My brother did kill Lord Snow," she put a drag on the word 'snow' as if tasting something bitter, "but he did not kill the Stark boy, nor Rodrik Cassel, nor burn Winterfell, or try to kill J-Arya," she corrected quickly, glancing at her brother, still stiff in his chair, "he, he did betray Robb Stark, but he was trying to remain loyal to his own family, and you, how, how can you blame a man for that? Don't you all say you can't trust a man who turns against his family? Well, he told me himself how, how sorry he was for betraying Robb, and, many other things. He couldn't have sounded more truthful than he did. And he wasn't trying to run away during the battle of The Broken Lake! I found him by the Weirwood, cleaning a sword drenched in Bolton Blood! He fought for you! I saw him kill a man to save that no good banker! He had many reasons to kill Lord Snow, and he has even more reasons to prove those Bolton 'witnesses' liars, and guilty of worse crimes than his! My brother had the best reasons in the world to want Lord Snow dead! You cannot kill him!" She paused and drew long, slow breaths. Tentatively, Theon lifted his head and met her eyes. What did they show? She shook her head. They were pleading, begging for her to stop and let him die. She glared at him, and whispered,

"No, sorry, but I can't let you die," his expression changed to anger. Angry at her? No, for he pulled out a gloved hand from his cape, placed it on the back of his chair and pulled himself up to a stand. She smiled. He turned towards Stannis, and said in a tone so truthful and guiltless, it seemed to be as pure as 24 carat gold. She hadn't anything like it before in her life.

"It's true," he had rasped. Stannis leaned forward, but before he could speak, Little Lord Rickon squeaked in his most grown up voice,

"Let's see proof of the men's crimes," slightly startled, The King nodded tightly and looked at Theon expectantly.

"Is there any evidence of the crimes done to you by the two witnesses?" Theon nodded, then wordlessly, and to Asha's horror, saw him take off his cloak, toss it to the ground, rip off his gloves, unlace his shirt, pulled it up, over his head, and left it to crumple on the ground. There were a few gasps as the court viewed all the knife and whip marks on his back. His chest was worse, and Stannis, asked for an explanation, though he said it as if he knew one wasn't necessary. Theon breathed deeply, held up his maimed hands, the crooked scars on his stumps still an angry red, and spoke, as if waking from a nightmare,

"Skinner was the one who did this to me, on Ramsay's bidding. Sour Alyn, and the rest joined in as well. They physically abused me for their own amusement, as well as Lord Bol-Snow!" He cried the last word triumphantly, "It wasn't just me though, they, all together, hunted, raped, and flayed women, before letting the dogs tear them to pieces. He-he sometimes made me watch...Isn't that crime enough? I don't care if you kill me or not, my life is already over, but please, bring those men to justice If there is such a thing as that left." He finished angrily, and pulled his shirt back on, struggled with the laces, fastened the cloak, and pulled on his gloves. Asha felt very proud of Theon. That would have been very embarrassing, she could imagine, but it didn't mean he was going to live.

Then Stannis stood, nodded wordlessly to the guards at the back, who seized Skinner and Sour Alyn, dragging them out the heavy oak doors. She couldn't help smile as they screamed while being led to the dungeons. Stannis shook his head, and almost, almost smiled as he glanced at Asha.

"Theon of House Greyjoy, I permit you to take the Black, and live the rest of your life at the Wall, unless you find a Stark, and bring them home, back in Winterfell where they belong. Then I will pardon you, and permit you to do as you choose. Trial adjourned!" He barked suddenly, then left without another word. There was a small moment of silence, before everyone started to clamber from their chairs noisily, and discuss what they had just witnessed. Most disapproved with the king's decision, but they couldn't do anything about it, could they? 

Theon then stood up, and turned to look at her in the eyes.

"You didn't have to do that, but, thanks all the same." Asha rolled her eyes exasperatedly. 

"Of course I had to, stupid! But I also wanted to. And one more thing, please don't try to get yourself killed again, because I might not be there in time to save you again."

Theon smiled.

"Don't worry, I won't."

"Promise?"

He nodded.

She smiled too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm terrible at writing, and my last parts were strange, please tell me if you liked this one! I will try to have the fourth part ready a bit sooner, it might not happen though. I'll try anyway. There's a lot more to come, so hang in there! Thanks!


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